


Welcome Home

by AsunaBellasora



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: AU, Angst, Coffee Shop, Emails, Fluff, M/M, Rated M for later Chapters, Smut, but they dont, foster father yoshimura, im not listing other pairings because suspense muahahaha, like its angst with coffee plus the fall in love over letter tropes, plus so much side character shit, there is so much shit going to happen in this, they hate each other, uncle yomo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsunaBellasora/pseuds/AsunaBellasora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 10 years since Yomo ran. He left behind his home, his pain, and his family. Now it's time he makes amends. But will it be that simple when his niece and nephew don't remember him? And will he be able to manage without breaking his obnoxious neighbours face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So far this piece is planned out to be 17 chapters but who honestly knows. There is a lot planned for this and I have no beta but yolo I'll give it my best shot. Due to this I might do edits at some points or whatever. This is basically like 10 dorky fanfiction tropes that I love smooshed into one self-indulgent bundle. I haven't posted any writing in a long time, nor have I ever written a multi chapter, so please comment if you can! Thank you, Enjoy~

The methodical clacking of the train rumbled in the back of his subconscious as he stared out of the window. The tranquil country atmosphere was beginning to fade as they got closer to the city; fields basking in the orange glow of sunset long behind them. It’d been a long time since he’d been back to Tokyo. As a young child his sister and he had played in its parks, attended its schools, laughed, cried, fought, and ended each day wrapped in the arms of their mother. They had no father to speak of, he’d left their mum before he was even born. But they didn’t mind. He was always well fed, warm, loved.

Then his mother got sick.

She passed away when he was 13. At first he didn’t know what to do, he was utterly lost in the world. It was his sister that pulled him out of it. To this day he’s not sure how she managed to keep it together so well, but he supposed she did it for him. She always was the stronger one. A few weeks later and she’d ensured them a foster home that would keep them together. So, they packed up their childhood home, taking only what they needed and nothing more. He still remembers crying as they left behind so much of their mother. He’d covered his favourite scarf in her perfume before they left for the final time and he still remembers the scent – earthy, with a hint of nutmeg. She’d been a country girl and always said the smell reminded her of home. Ironic that it would end up reminding him of home too; reminding him of her. He doesn’t remember much else of the move and before he knew it they were standing at the door of a little café, a single suitcase each in their hands, bowing to their new carer.

“Oh, dear, now this is much too formal isn’t it?” A gentle lilt warmed his voice as he beckoned towards the newly orphaned children. “Come on now, let’s get you inside.”

It wasn’t until he’d been ushered upstairs and settled down with a warm drink that he got a good look at the man. He seemed to be mid 30’s but there were lines forming around his eyes that made him seem beyond his time, with stands of silver beginning to weave themselves through his hair. His attire was smart, a crisply pressed white shirt buttoned tight around his throat and a waistcoat fitted snug around his physique. It was later that he learned that this was uniform for the coffee shop he owned downstairs, “Anteiku”. They stayed in that apartment from then on. It was a cozy place; warm, and welcoming, and always held a faint scent of coffee from customers enjoying their time below. Anteiku had been fittingly named since the love for antiques spread throughout every nook and cranny. Their home was filled with ornate mahogany that was scratched with age, brass that didn’t shine as it once had, yellowing records, and china with patterns that faded away. Walls were covered in greens and golds, intricate floral patterns delicately embossed in the print. His sister and he had shared a room then but they didn’t mind. They always slept soundly, wrapped in the silken embrace of the sheets, lulled by the downy feathered comfort and loving care they felt around them. He could never express how grateful he was to have been one of the lucky ones - for them to have found such a loving home.

On weekends they would work in Anteiku. His sister would help with waitressing while he did odd jobs for allowance. Years passed in quiet peace as they came to terms with their mothers passing. When his sister reached 18 she met a boy and fell in love, and soon after they got a place of their own. A year after that she fell pregnant and by the time she was 20, he’d become an uncle. She’d named her Touka, after their mother, and he may have only been 17 at the time but he swore then he’d love that child like it was his own. She had their mothers’ eyes. A few more years, a bit more life experience, and he was now working full time at the café when his sister had her second child. She’d giggled as she told of how she’d tried to let Touka choose the name but that all she’d done was scribble furiously with a crayon before announcing proudly that that was her new brothers’ name. They were clever about it though, choosing to use the kanji for art and settling on Ayato. The years following that were the happiest he could ever remember. It was as if they had a family again. Every fortnight they’d have dinner at the apartment above Anteiku and he’d watch as the kids ran and squealed with delight, and his sister glowed with love in her partners arms.

It was gone to soon.

Ghosted hands crept around his throat and choked him. He was gasping, desperately trying to break the surface but he just kept getting pulled back down. She couldn’t be gone. She didn’t deserve to be taken so soon. He couldn’t lose anybody else.  
The train scraped loudly as they turned round a bend and he was pulled from his thoughts once more. His throat was closing up again just at the memory. He tried to regain focus and realised his vision was blurred. Hastily, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and wiped his eyes.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It’d been 10 years now. 10 years since she’d passed. 10 years since he’d left. 

He’d ran. 

He’d been selfish and weak and fled instead of dealing with the pain. For years now he’d worked odd jobs in a rural country district with no contact to his past. Nobody knew where he was. He hadn’t kept in touch.

That’s why he had to go back now.

She hadn’t died alone, her husband had died too. Touka and Ayato had been left alone in the world as mere children, just 7 and 4 years old respectively. But they shouldn’t have been alone. He should’ve been there, should’ve taken them in and made sure they were loved and knew of their parents every single day. Instead he’d left them with his own foster father. There was nobody else he could possibly have trusted, after all, he’d took them in when they were orphaned themselves. Guilt’s a wicked thing though, and it had gotten to him. It slowly slipped into his veins until he was haunted with thoughts of what his sister would’ve wanted. He knew he had to make it right.

And so that’s how he ended up on this train, racing back to his childhood home and all of his pain.

He could do this. He would do it for them.

The fiery blaze of sunset was fading into a subtle glow as the train began its’ unwind into the station. Lifting his arms above his head with a yawn, he arched back and felt his vertebrae pop after having been still so long. He was just buttoning up the top of his favourite high-collared coat when they came to a complete halt. With a final yawn to shake the last of the bleariness from his system he collected his things and made for the doors.  
Cool wind hit his cheeks as soon as he lay his first foot onto the station. The familiar city scent of smoke filled the air as people bustled past, hurrying to get home before dusk settled. He could feel stares from those around him as they moved past. It was something he was accustomed to, however, since between his silver-blonde hair and lumbering height he had always stood out against your average Japanese man. A blessing and a curse, really. It proved to be a blessing right now as he used his extra height to survey the station and found a familiar set of warm, creased eyes looking out of the crowd. He could hear his heart beat fast and loud in his ears with nerves as he worked up the courage to put one foot in front of the other.  


Then they were standing before each other. For a moment the world seemed to still and he was 13 again, standing at the door to Anteiku with a single suitcase in one hand and his sister in the other. He couldn’t help but feel like she should be here now.

“Hello Renji.” The familiar lilt was a soothing balm to the pain he’d carried alone for a decade now. “We’ve missed you. Let’s get you home, shall we?”

 

 

“I apologise for the inconvenience, but this is the only property I had open at the moment.”

They’d walked through the streets of Tokyo in companionable silence, winding through the maze of paths until the first of the street lights switched on. It had been a long time since he’d seen his foster father but it felt as if he’d never left. Yoshimura was 54 now, the silver that was woven in fine strands now encompassed his whole head and the lines across his face had deepened with age. There were new ones though – laughter lines, crinkling around his eyes to combat the worried sketching on his forehead. The events of the last decade had aged him greatly but he still held the same kindness in his every move. Even after all he’d done, he felt nothing but welcomed.

Yoshimura had more than just Anteiku and the apartment above nowadays. He’d saved up, invested in a few properties and let them out to people in need. It seemed like he was always in need of care from this man. Only a few weeks had passed since Renji had plucked up the nerve to call and jump-start his return and this property was the only one available on such short notice.

It was a small apartment structure, two stories tall with beat-up walls that were bleached from the sun. The bottom level housed some simple amenities – a convenience store, a ramen shop. Yoshi led him up the outer stairwell to the top-left doorway and paused to rummage for the key. There was a small fluorescent light above the door that caught on brass detailing. The number 17 hung in the centre of the frame, the seven slightly askew and the paint chipping underneath. Further below that there was a plaque mounted that appeared in much better condition than everything else. Embossed on the middle of its unscratched surface was his name - Yomo Renji. Yoshimura had taken the time to mount this small fixture to try and make him feel more at home on his return. The lump welled in his throat again.

Eventually the keys were found and the door clicked open.

“It’s small, but it’s clean and warm and I’ve stocked the fridge. There’s some coffee and things too, and new sheets. And the convenience store is just below you.”

A caring smile lifted the corner of his lips as he spoke and Renji felt his eyes crinkling in return.

“Thank you, Yoshi. I don’t know what to say.”

“Think nothing of it, you’re always welcome here. Just remember to come down to Anteiku tomorrow, you start at 12. It’s only a few streets away.”

“Of cours-… wait, what?”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His foster father had already welcomed him back so openly and given one of his homes to him, he surely couldn’t be giving him a job too?  
An endearing laugh flowed into the space between them.

“Did you think I’d let you do anything else?”

Renji was at a loss for words. In all his dreams, he never expected to be welcomed back so completely after abandoning them for so long. His vision started to blur again with tears that threatened to surface so he grabbed Yoshi’s hand in both of his and shook tightly.

“Thank you,” he coughed, “I won’t let you down.”

Yoshi raised his other hand and petted his shoulder gently before handing over the key and making to leave.

“Good night, Ren. Welcome home.”


	2. Chapter 2

Yomo awoke with a start.

The pounding of his heart against his chest felt like it was trying to break through his ribs while he scrambled to get a grip of his sheets. With laboured breaths he squinted in the dark to read his alarm clock.  
3:48am.

For a moment he wondered what had woken him so abruptly before another bang echoed from outside. Sighing heavily, he lifted himself from the warm embrace of his bed and trudged towards the front door. As he approached the sound of giggling floated towards him and he felt apprehension grow in his chest at who it could be. Hesitantly, he creaked open his door and surveyed the landing. It was dark, illuminated only by the fluorescent bulbs above each door, yet he could clearly make out two figures near the neighbouring apartment. He vaguely registered that there was someone trying to work the key into the lock, but his attention was drawn to their feet. There, in a pile on the floor, was a slender giggling mess that glowed ethereal with paleness. It was as if they reflected light like the moon itself. The two hadn’t appeared to notice Yomo yet so he cleared his throat loudly.

Everything stilled.

The silence pulsed in the air. Black ink flowed down one side of their face as they swivelled to locate the intrusion, shadowing their eyes in its darkness. The rotation showed that the other side was blotted short across their scalp, revealing more of their face. He was taken aback. The graceful beauty emanating from them had seemed distinctly female but he now saw he’d been wrong. They cocked their head quizzically and Yomo couldn’t help but feel as if he was being sized like prey.

“Since when has anybody lived in 17?”

It sounded like an innocent question but the underlying tension strung in the air didn’t escape Yomo’s attention. He kept quiet and drew himself taller, only quirking an eyebrow up in unamused query.

That wasn’t well received.

“You go in ahead Itori, I’ll be there in a minute.”

It didn’t sound like a request. With a sigh, his companion proceeded to slip into the neighbouring apartment. Apparently she’d gotten the door open at some point.

“I asked you a question.”

He slunk a few steps closer to Yomo, showing surprising finesse for someone having to use the wall as support. As he moved his cardigan slipped down his arms, revealing a cascade of tattoos embossed across his flesh. With every step the stench of liquor grew and he started to piece together the situation.

He remained resolute with silence but irritation began to flame within him. Being woken in the dead of night to deal with drunks hadn’t been in his plan.

Now that they were closer, he raised his chin to stare at him directly. He felt his eyes shoot wide in fear. Glaring back at him were pools of black, bloodied red dripped across the iris like a demon. It took a few seconds for his brain to process that they must be contacts. He hastened to steel his expression but the slip had been noticed and the onyx staring back at him had narrowed to slits.

He inhaled sharply.

“Are you going to answer me, or do I have to make you?”

That snapped his tolerance. He didn’t take lightly to threats, especially not from drunken goths who fancied themselves a fight.

“As of now.”

Being quiet may have issues at other times but short answers held well in a fight.

Pierced lips quirked to a smirk.

“Oh, wise guy, eh? And what, did you just come out for a show?”

The challenge was transparent. He could tell he was being goaded to get a rise out of him. Honestly, he was too tired to care for games.

“No, I came to find out what the fuck woke me up at 4am. Seems it was just some drunken smart-ass and his whore.”

The air burned. Black voids darkened further until his glare was almost feral. Raising himself to his full height, he placed himself directly in Yomo’s personal space.

“Listen here 17 - if I want to come home drunk off my ass with the entire population of Tokyo behind me, I damn well will. Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?”

Electricity cracked between their stares.

“Mind your own business from now on or I’ll mind it for you.”

The smirk returned then; threatening, jeering. He started to lean away but Yomo followed his movements, looming inches from his nose.

“Then follow your own advice, mind your own business and go pass out on someone else’s door step you wasted prick.”

Not even a beat passed before he’d turned back into his apartment and slammed the door in his face. It was too late to bother with this any further, though he swore he could hear his neighbour snarling at the other side.

As if things could go smoothly. Of course he’d end up with an absolute twat for a neighbour.

Now he wasn’t just tired, he was pissed off. He threw himself onto his bed with a grunt and tried to calm himself down enough to drift off. Tomorrow was a new day.

 

 

When his alarm flashed to life at 10am he nearly broke it with how hard he slammed it off.

The morning glow shone through the curtains and he rolled to bask in its warmth as he was pulled to consciousness. He slung his arms above his head and arched into a stretch. A sharp pain strung across his shoulder. With a wince, he lifted himself from the comfort of the sheets and scraped at his eyes to remove the sleep. His thoughts drifted back to the previous night and a sigh fell from his lips. At least the pain made sense now, he’d likely slept funny from the tension. Scratching his stomach, he lumbered to the bathroom and fumbled through drawers in the hopes of a first aid kit. In the drawer under the sink he found a box of pain killers and smiled silently to himself. Yoshi always did think of everything. 

Carrying the medication, he made his way to the kitchen. A quick glance around revealed some simple breakfast foods and, most importantly, coffee beans. Being raised by a café owner ingrained some habits in you and proper coffee was definitely one of them. Just the thought of drinking instant blend every day formed a bitter taste in his mouth. As the kettle steamed to life he scattered some beans into the mortar and began grinding them down. Once finished, he reflexively reached for a jar beside him before pausing to a halt. 

Yoshimura had remembered. 

When the transition to foster care had still been raw, Yomo had found himself growing increasingly depressed. After a fortnight of wallowing Yoshi had started giving him drinks, promising the warmth would help. He’d scoffed, but something about them always felt like home and the pain began to ebb. It wasn’t until a few months later he’d discovered Yoshi had been adding nutmeg because his sister had said it smelled like their mother. 

He’d put nutmeg in his coffee ever since. 

The kettle whistled and pulled Yomo back from memory lane. With a smile ghosting on his lips, he readied the filter and slowly let the liquid spill over it. Everything in life was better with a little care and a rinsed filter made a world of difference. He disposed of the drained water and readied the filter once more, carefully tipping the ground coffee into its hold. Then he gently let the water cascade over the granules, ensuring to swirl his wrist in precise circles. Earthy aroma's flooded the room as the brew began to drip to dark-roasted perfection. He busied himself with tidying and sorting a muffin to eat while the last of the blend worked its way into the pot. Once it was done, he cleared up the last of the supplies and poured a cup into one of the plain grey mugs the cupboards held.

Just before pushing away from the counter he grabbed the nutmeg once more and sprinkled it over the top. No point in breaking a habit after 21 years.

With his breakfast finally sorted, he settled at one of the chairs aside the worn wooden table in the corner of the room. He lifted the mug, and as the first robust trickle of flavour passed his lips he began to feel distinctly more human. 

How anyone functioned without morning coffee, he would never know.

Once he’d eaten he grabbed the pills he’d located earlier and threw back a couple with the last of his drink. The time on the microwave read at 10:40, so he placed the dishes in the sink for later and shuffled down the hall to shower. Some hot water and a clean shirt later and he found himself ready to face the day. It had reached just after 11 so he slipped the last of the coffee jar into a flask and made to leave. He was just locking the door behind him when he heard his neighbours’ creak open.

Just his luck. He didn’t want to have to deal with this jackass again so soon.

“Oh, hello.”

Well, that wasn’t expected. Instead of the breathy voice he expected, he was greeted by a velvety tone several octaves higher. He turned to see who'd welcomed him and felt his face redden in shame. Standing at the opposite door was the woman he’d seen last night. She’d slipped his mind, but now he remembered slandering her with unfavourable terms.

He avoided eye contact as he choked out a greeting of his own.

"Morning."

“I’m Itori, nice to meet you. You are?”

Why was she being so polite to him? Hadn’t she heard the argument last night? She’d only been on the other side of the door. He debated how to answer.

“Sorry, am I _too much of a whore_ to deserve your name?”

Shit.

“Yomo, I-I’m Yomo.” Great, now he was stuttering. “I’m r-really sorry about that. I’m sure you’re lovely and it was none of my busine-“

“Stop, stop. It’s fine. Uta was interrogating you so it’s not entirely your fault. Just don’t do it again, yeah?”

“Y-yes, of course.”

Awkwardness settled across them and he felt at a loss of what to say. Playful mirth seemed to dance in her eyes.

“So, Uta? Is that his name?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry about him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Honestly, he’s not usually like that. He’s just a bit territorial when he’s drunk.”

“So he’s not normally such a prick?”

The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. He braced himself for the anger he was sure would erupt from insulting her friend so brazenly but instead, she softly giggled.

“Oh, U-chan is definitely a prick. Just a different kind.”

She continued to giggle as she winked at him, then sashayed towards the stairs. They must be closer than he'd assumed for her to call him such affectionate names. Perhaps she was his girlfriend?

“I’m sure I’ll see you again. It was lovely to meet you, Yomo-chan.”

He was about to bid her farewell when the nickname hit him. A moment passed as he stood frozen with surprise. When his brain caught up and realised he hadn’t replied, he pitched himself to the railing and looked down to find her. She was already walking away – back facing him, gently waving as she went. He was sure if he could see her face, she’d be smirking.

After a few more seconds to collect himself he slipped his keys into his pocket and headed off himself. So, the porcelain figure from before was Uta. He wondered what he might be like, if he really was different normally. However, he didn’t have time for wondering so he filed the thought away at the back of his mind and took a look around. It was a nice day, the sun beat down through clear skies coupled with a gentle breeze to keep cool. Birds chirped in the lush greens of a park across the way. Anteiku was only a short walk but he was glad to have the time to dawdle. He needed to prepare himself for his return.

It had been a decade. He hadn’t even stuck around for the funeral, running when they were only infants. He knew they didn’t remember him, knew it was his own fault, but that didn’t it from stinging deep within. 

He was going to make this right.

Streets passed and familiar structures began to envelope him. With every step he felt nostalgia creep over him and before he knew it the chalkboard that once signalled home was at his feet.

A simple wooden door was all the stood in his way. Once he’d pushed through it, there was no going back.

Images of his sister raced in front of his eyes.

His throat closed over.

He had to do this. She would want him to. He had to fix this. His family needed him.

He swallowed the lump, forced himself to breathe – 

\- and pushed open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done and dusted. Gonna hopefully keep bashing them out at a similar rate. Again, I have no beta and little experience so I'm sorry if it's a bit clunky.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is delayed D: my new job started this week and preparing then doing it took over my time. I got this written up though so I hope you enjoy! I'm hoping to have the next one no later than next weekend, but I'm moving this week so I apologise if it's a little later. It's taken me 3 chapters to do everything I'd planned for chapter 1, so it's looking like this might me even longer than what I originally planned. We'll see :L
> 
> Enjoy!

Two weeks had passed since that first day at the café. 

He’d spent so long imagining that moment, fretting about what to say, how to act, over-thinking scenario after scenario in the hopes that he could get it right. 

He hadn’t prepared for it to be so underwhelming.

When he first stepped through the doorway to his childhood safe haven, he’d been hit by a deep rooted feeling of nostalgia. Everything from the polished surfaces of the wood to the warm glow of natural light filtering through the glass wall remained just as he remembered it. The faintly fruity smell of worn mahogany just made it through the rich coffee and, honestly, it smelled like home.

With a flick of his eyes, he scanned the area. It wasn’t too busy yet - just 2 patrons so far. He’d been quite sharp, he supposed, so the lunch rush wouldn’t have started yet. It didn’t usually hit until 1 anyway. Turning his attention, his eyes landed on the counter in the corner. Shelves were stacked high with jar upon jar of coffee beans, sugars, syrups - a whole plethora of treats. There was a single coffee cup sat near the back corner. It was a familiar sight. Many a time, his sister and he would relax in that corner when there was a lull in the day; gentle laughs blossoming over the drinks they’d share. It was one such occasion in which he’d tried to impress her with a new bean-grinding technique he’d learned in a magazine. Things hadn’t gone exactly to plan and, instead, he ended up smashing the marble mortar off the bunker and left a dent gouged out of the edge. It wasn’t a huge mark, but they’d been so worried of how Yoshi would react that they’d strategically hidden it with their hands or cleaning cloths any time he came past. It wasn’t until a week later that they admitted it. Turned out he’d known the entire time, he’d been waiting for them to be honest with him. He wasn’t even mad. Simply told them to be more careful; that mistakes happened. Yoshi had always been so patient.

It was a gentle upon his shoulder that made him realise his trip down memory lane had drawn him forward. Now he stood located behind the counter with his fingers tracing the familiar, never-repaired mark.

The ache of missing his sister resonated low through his chest.

A soft squeeze pressed into his shoulder and he turned himself around. Yoshi stood beside him, an empathetic smile touching upon his lips. It had been a long time since he’d been around the comforting nurture of his foster father. In that moment, he’s not quite sure how he managed without it.

A beat of silence rang between them as they shared a silent memory of Hikari. It wasn’t until then that he really understood how much Yoshi missed her too. After all, he’d raised them both. Renji may have lost his sister, but Yoshi had lost a child.

Self-loathing iced his spine. He really shouldn’t have left.

Never again.

Thoughts of Hikari’s passing reminded him of why he’d been so nervous for today in the first place.

Touka.

Ayato.

His family.

“Don’t worry, they’re not here.”

Eyes locked sharply.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re not coming today. They have the day off.”

Confusion must have been evident on his face because Yoshi continued before he had the chance to think up a response.

“I wanted to give you a chance to settle in. I didn’t think it best to overwhelm you on your first day back.”

Oh.

Of course Yoshi would’ve thought ahead and put Yomo’s comfort above all else. With hindsight, it does make sense to not rush into this - to give himself time to adjust to being back in this place, surrounded by memories of his sister.

With a shrug, he slipped his jacket off of his shoulders and slipped into the staff area to store it away. A rack of aprons still hung on the wall at the foot of the stairs, as it always had. Yomo pulled one down and slung it across his waist. He felt an odd weight settle across his hips. Curious hands reached into the pocket, pulling out a beat-up order book and an old pencil. Atop where the eraser would be there was a rubber rabbit topper instead. His rabbit topper. Nimble fingers flicked the pages of the order book until it reached the back. There, faded and sketchy, were all of his old doodles. Pages filled with band logos badly scribbled from memory and detailed etchings of the plants dotted around the café.

He hadn’t even thought. Reaching for that hook was muscle memory.

All this time, all these years, his apron still hung untouched.

Waiting for him.

Slipping the book back into the pocket, he pushed open the door to the storefront. With a quick straightening of his tie he joined Yoshi behind the counter.

“So, boss. Where d’you want me?”

 

 

It was a few days after that when they came in.

He’d started to settle into the daily routine again and was in the middle of wiping down tables to prepare for the last rush of the day when the door chimed. The cheery greeting he’d prepped died on his lips when he caught sight of their faces.

They looked just like her.

Barely a glance was passed his way as they strode past and settled themselves at a corner table. Yomo forced himself to stop staring and tried to focus on cleaning while he collected his thoughts.

There was no point in getting flustered. Just play it cool.

He stole glances back as often as he could without making himself obvious.

Cobalt hair draped down, curtaining their faces as they peered over their books. From what he could tell, it appeared to be a study session. Or, at least, Touka was studying. Ayato was playing something on his phone.

The staff door clicked.

“Oh, you’re here.”

Yoshi appeared from behind the bar and stopped behind the pair.

“Yeah, hey Dad,” came a monotone drawl.

“What’re you studying?”

“Biology. We have a lab test next week and I need to pass well to boost my final.”

“I see. Well, good luck for it then. I’ve no doubts you’ll do brilliantly.”

She glanced up then, blue eyes to match her hair meeting Yomo’s with a shy smile.

“Are you aware Ayato’s playing Angry Owl’s though?”

Irritation spread across her features as she swiftly spun and thumped him between the shoulder blades. His hood slipped down from the impact and Yomo could see rabbit ears attached to the top.

“Stop goofing off and study you idiot!”

The insult was spat with surprising harshness. Yet, she settled back into work as if nothing had happened.

“Did you meet Yomo?”

Yoshi poised the question with a gesture of his hand in Yomo’s direction. His presence being acknowledged reminded him he’d been staring. He tried to look inconspicuous as he gave a slight wave;

“Nice to meet you.”

No response was granted. Touka studied him for a quiet minute before turning back to her work. Ayato never even bothered to glance round.

“So he’s the guy you were on about then?”

Wait – what had he told them?

“Yes. Yomo’s an old friend who’s just come back to town, so he’ll be working here from now on.”

Silence rung out once more.

With a clack, Ayato laid his phone on the table and hung his head back over his shoulder to look at Yomo.

“Can you make good coffee?”

While abrasive, the question felt more like a test than a threat.

Smugness pulled at his lips as he looked down at the boy.

“The best.”

“That’s all that matters then.”

With a smirk of his own, he lifted his head back and picked up a pencil. Yomo’s not sure, but he thinks he passed.

A faint chuckle ebbs away as Yoshi turns and heads back towards the counter. He sees him beckon for him gently and goes to join.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“You could’ve warned me they were coming.”

“I thought this way would stop you from working yourself up.”

Well. He wasn’t wrong.

Instead he’d just about had a heart attack.

“They’re quite the pair, eh?”

“Yeah. They’re very… guarded.”

Yoshi chuckled again.

“They’ll open up. They’ve been through a lot, just give them time.”

Nodding his head in acceptance, he stole another look to really take them in.

The same sapphire hair; eyes to match. There was no doubt they were his sisters kids. Touka in her proper school uniform pouring over her textbooks. Ayato beside her adorned similarly with the addition of a scruffy rabbit hoody. He was scribbling away, but whether he was working or doodling was another question.

He was Yomo’s nephew, so doodling wasn’t unlikely.

Shallow breaths escaped him as he took in every detail, taking a mental snapshot of this moment so he wouldn’t forget it.

He wasn’t sure how things would go from here but - here, now - they were with him again.

The moment passed and, with his resolved strengthened, Yomo returned to work.

 

 

Routine was beginning to become commonplace now. Get up; go to work; grab some groceries from the convenience mart below his flat; eat dinner; sleep. Touka and Ayato came to study whenever they could, usually most nights a week. 

He’d asked Yoshi where they stayed and he’d explained that he loaned them a flat near their school once Touka had turned 16. So long as they kept up housework, ate properly, and kept up their grades, they were allowed to keep the place for as long as they needed free-of-charge. 

The appreciation was evident with how frequently they visited and helping out at weekends.

Yomo suspected they also just enjoyed being in the company of their foster father. Anteiku had always brought him comfort too.

His obnoxious neighbour hadn’t been seen much since that first night. He’d caught glimpses of him in passing; icy glares from sides of eyes sending shivers across his skin.

What was his problem?

Aside from that, he barely knew he was there. He’d been expecting gratingly loud music at stupid hours and more drunken fights, but so far everything was peaceful.

It had him on edge.

He didn’t trust it. However, he wasn’t going to question it and instigate the next fight. So he left it alone and carried on with his routine.

Which led him to here – another day at the café. It was around 3 in the afternoon and gentle rain had misted the glass-panelling of the far wall. He’d been holding the fort for the last few hours while Yoshi ran some errands.

The bell over the door chimed out as he arrived back with a large box in hand. Yomo rushed over to give him a hand.

“What’s this?”

“It’s some art pieces to sell. Had someone contact me asking to show them here. I felt it might help us draw more customers and we can support local artists at the same time.”

“Sounds good. Where you gonna put them though?”

“Oh, we’ll hang them across the walls. Think of them as free décor.”

And that’s how Yomo spent the rest of the afternoon redecorating.

There was the usual you’d expect; some paintings of fruit, some of flowers, a watercolour of a mountain, some photographs of a shrine. It was the last things he got to that caught his attention.

Lying in the box were 3 masks. Each appeared to be hand crafted and very high quality. 

The first was a masquerade mask, pearlescent white accentuated with crystals and peacock feathers. It glinted with elegance each time it caught the light.

The second was the bright red face of an Oni that stopped at the bottom lip. Vicious fangs hung down like a cage across the mouth area and two large horns protruded forward from the top.

The last was that of a clown. A heart and cross took the position of eyes and were smeared across the surface as if painted with blood. A large pair of darkened lips encompassed the bottom half, bared to show a full set of teeth that appeared jarringly realistic.

Yomo studied each as he hung them. The attention to detail really was astounding, and the extravagance of the material wasn’t lost on him. It would take a lot of skill to make things look as impressive as these did. The stitching around each seam was meticulously flawless.

He was really impressed.

With the final nail in place, he stood back to admire his handiwork. Anteiku really did look refreshed with all the new decoration, but there was no denying that the masks were the most astounding. Their uniqueness was bold against the traditional features and pulled your focus from wherever you looked.

“Interesting, aren’t they?”

Yoshi had called to him from the counter as he finished up cleaning for the day. He huffed a sound of agreement in his direction as he went to remove his apron.

It’d been a long day working solo for so long.

It was worth it though, he supposed, to now have something else to look at when the day dragged.

“Who made them?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Nobody knows his real identity, he works under the alias of ‘No-Face’.”

Intriguing.

He waved goodbye to Yoshi as he donned his high-collared coat and stepped into the rain. It was only a faint drizzle now so he wouldn’t mind walking home.

He hadn’t made much progress and it was starting to cause concern. Touka and Ayato remained as reserved as they had the day they’d met.

How could he connect to them?

Oh well, he supposed. There was nothing he could do about it right now.

Tomorrow was another day.


End file.
